


Fatal Trysts

by orphan_account



Series: KuroKura AUs [4]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Consent, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, On Today's episode of make Kurapika answer his phone-, Pining, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, idk man I've been feeling out of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kurapika makes some bad decisions over the things he assumes and pays the price for it.[Kurapika and Kuroro have an arrangement that slowly breaks Kurapika apart but even Kuroro is affected-same with Leorio]
Relationships: Kurapika & Leorio Paladiknight, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Series: KuroKura AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980625
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	1. A Bad Decision

**Author's Note:**

> To those who get triggered on anything remotely hinting on suicide, please skip the paragraph that starts with "In the middle of the night" otherwise, enjoy Kurapika's self loathing.
> 
> I wrote this to procrastinate on my work.

It shouldn't have happened. He had the power to stop it but he didn't, instead he allowed it to continue. Every phone call he receives from Leorio brings Kurapika immense guilt. Guilt for him being the indirect reason and for what he has been doing for the past months. Kurapika couldn't remember how exactly it happened except that it did. Erratic Rendezvous at seedy hotels became a hidden past time of his. He donned the same Disguise every time. the same platinum blond wig with matching sunglasses. A Black ensemble from head to toe-the same thing he had worn back during his time in York new city to extirpate the spiders, now they served a whole other purpose. They had a procedure they followed every single time. Kurapika would always wait inside a club, idly getting himself drunk knowing what would happen in the next few hours. The musty smell of sweat and alcohol never failed to cloud his mind, and then he would arrive. Despite being Nenless-which he himself personally sealed-he managed to retain this aura of danger about him. Clothes different each time, but his bandana was always recognizably the same. The glint in his eyes never failed to resembled a beast ready to eat his prey alive, and yet Kurapika didn't seem to mind that fact.

They never do small talk-hell would have to freeze over first before they do. The second step was the signal. He would always wrap his fur-lined coat on Kurapika's shoulders, the same one he'd wear in front of his brigade. It became a weird tradition of sorts, Kurapika doesn't know the intentions behind it nor does he care to understand, but he knows that at this point-it would serve as a reminder that Kuroro, in his own way, managed to capture him. It left a bitter taste in his mouth every time, but he'd always blame it on the alcohol he downed, he was never much of a drinker any way, but it was the only way to numb the memories that ensue. "You look beautiful." his words were always meaningless, Kurapika knew that he knew he didn't need to spare him any of these endearments and yet he persists to do it each time-he'd remain silent each time too.

In the moments leading up to their hotel room-things would always muddle like smoke. Things were either too fast or too slow either way they would always pick up the pace. Hands roamed his body without further delay. His hands were always cold, but they did wonders to reminding him of the truth. it felt good as he held him, Kurapika would always mistake his hold as something a kin to tenderness, but he couldn't be-he was a monster. blame it on the alcohol. His kisses were always deep, like he wanted to devour him whole without a piece of him left, but he would always return these kisses with the same ferocity. Attempting to dominate the man, but he knows that this too is a futile attempt to gain control. Sometimes however, he could've sworn they were warm-soft like a lover's embrace but that would be deluding himself too much. Blame it on the alcohol.

His touch never failed to make him tremble. he curses the universe for giving the man he hates so much the ability to unravel him with a signal touch. His mere presence was both repulsive and intoxicating-and he hates the that he revels in the fact he's always changed in his arms. Kuroro had a gentlemanly persona outside of his troupe activities, but that had been put into question during the first month they had done it. Rough hands that left scalding marks on his hips, bruises and bite marks marred his lithe body like a chew toy-and like a rag doll he'd be thrown into bed before he was undone. Pain and pleasure made them, but Kurapika relied on the pain to stay sane. The way Kuroro somehow managed to reach deep enough to the point he swore he could feel him through his stomach was indeed something he knew he'd never feel with anyone ever again. Those were the times when his face was so firmly pressed into the pillow that he thought he would pass out, he never does but he wishes he had. They'd commit the act as painfully as they can, Kurapika made sure his marks would leave bleeding lines on his skin, as tallies for all the people he has killed, and as detached as they can. Then in the morning Kurapika would wake up alone-drowning in his mind but still functioning like nothing had happened, taking the soreness in stride.

So what changed now? How come his touches were kinder? How come his eyes looked at him with a strange sense of admiration? How come he'd now insist to see his face while they fucked-something had changed and he knew it. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be-it was supposed to hurt so why? Why now of all times did he have to be so kind to him?

The way Kuroro, held, touched, kissed and heaven forbid-loved him-was the same way he wanted to be loved, but not by him. This is why the aftermath hurts so much. If he woke up alone before, Kuroro developed the habit of staying behind instead. The first time it happened, he woke up facing his back-he always kicked the man then but he reeled himself in. Kurapika developed habits himself. Now, he always woke up in the middle of the night, naked and aching and not to mention absolutely wasted. The sight of Kuroro no longer surprises him, instead he feels almost apathetic. Empty with dread almost. Even with all the soreness he feels, he'd force himself to stand and steal one of the shirts lying around. This time, he picks up Kuroro's long sleeve button up, he knows it's his-it's too broad to be his, but he wears it anyway adding to the looming feelings he's yet to describe. The shirt hangs low on him-a decent portion of his upper thighs are covered but not the bites that marred the inner thigh. Kurapika knows he is practically drowning in Kuroro's scent, but for now he'll allow it.

The view of the balcony was always different-they change places frequently after all-but the air was the same. A portion of the city is always seen and the cool air always soothed him, momentarily. In tonight's view, he swore he could see the street corner he and Leorio would frequently walk by, and that adds unto the pain. Leorio, he wished it could have been him. Peering into his phone, he could always see the increasing amounts of missed phone calls and texts he receives from the doctor in training-but he couldn't bring himself to reply. He knew it then, he knew it now-He doesn't deserve Leorio. He deserved so much more than what he could offer and after all that he's down, he's not sure he can bring himself to answer anymore-not after the fact he'd stoop so low. The guilt ate him knowing he's chosen this route solely on the fact he knew Leorio could never be his. There was no way Leorio in any universe would remotely like him. After all he has only expressed interest in the other sex and he's not sure he can compete with that. With the way the past few months have changed him, it only served to enhance that fact. Another habit of his that he's sadly developed was the propensity to smoke. Mix that with the fact he's wasted-it was always meant to be a deadly combination.

In the middle of the night, after being fucked silly and high off his mind, he thinks about the sight below. How easy would it be to just jump over the balcony-would he feel like flying as he falls to his death? perhaps, but no. Dying is easy but Living is harder. Kurapika stares back at the sight of a sleeping Kuroro. Sometimes, he feels as though the man is awake-just that he never lets him know. The way the moon shines on him makes him look younger than he is-as though his sin is being washed away, but he knew better. Sometimes, he thinks Uvogin and Pakunoda-despite only being killed indirectly by him-are haunting him. In the deep recesses of his conscious where is logic now lay, he knows this is impossible-but with the help of alcohol and smoking, impossible becomes possible. He could see them, right now-along with all his dead clan members, watching him in silence. Today they seemed to be calm, but he could sense the disapproval in their eyeless faces. in his mind he could faintly hear their anguished screams. This was another type of guilt that ate away at him

In the lapses of his sanity-he thinks of killing Kuroro in his sleep. he summons the chain in his hands and points at the general direction his body lay, but he never would attack him, he'd only give up halfway-and for that he hates himself. Maybe the judgement chain wasn't wrapped around Kuroro's heart after all, but his own. it constricted painfully at the sight of him. His growing tenderness confused him greatly to the point that he wish he brought him pain instead. Their relationship no longer operated on Physical pain but in Emotional pain-something he's not sure he can handle for any longer. His thoughts of his unrequited love for Leorio and subsequent guilt, the revenge his clansmen desired but demeaned by his lust, the guilt and emptiness he feels towards Uvogin and Pakunoda-they all break away at him.

One day he likes to think, Kuroro will have mercy and kill him-if that were to be the case, then he hopes the man steals his eyes-he lost the right to them when he allowed himself to be taken in by him-no he lost that right a long long time ago. after that, he hopes to be left to rot without a grave to contain him. Kurapika likes to think that he doesn't deserve the right to have Scarlet eyes and the right to have a proper funeral. If his clansmen had to suffer having their eyes taken out then so will he. If they were left to rot for the earth to swallow them in it's embrace then so be it so will he.

For now however, Kurapika Kurta will not die-not yet at least. May the rage in his heart grow stronger with each passing moment, for if that candle were to burnout then who would he be? He hadn't noticed it, but his tears have been falling for awhile now.

He didn't know how long he smoked on that balcony-watching the smoke dance and disperse on the steady breeze as he himself softly cried. However long it might be, it was long enough. Wordlessly he discards the shirt again, opting to find his original clothes with wig-but his wig was frizzy so he forewent it, and without hesitations- he left the hotel a sleeping Kuroro. If his phone rings with a call from Leorio at 3am in the morning-he doesn't answer. if the message read 'Kurapika! where are you?? Look don't be angry be I snuck in your apartment-but you weren't there. Dammit Kurapika! answer your phone I'm worried-' he still doesn't answer. He swallows the guilt that welled inside him. it should have been you- it could have been you but it wasn't. No one will ever know how much he wished it was

His mind wonders to Leorio's warm hands-Kuroro's was cold. With the way Kuroro's treating him lately, perhaps he could just imagine him instead. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he's fantasized of such scenario. Where Leorio's hands were the one that roamed his body and not Kuroro's. That Leorio's lips were the one that claimed his own and not Kuroro's. That the one who entered him and made a mess of him was Leorio and not Kuroro. He wanted a knight to save him from the devil called Kuroro Lucilfer-and he wanted that knight to be Leorio Paladiknight. It was cheesy and utterly selfish of him-but at this point, he truly didn't know anymore.

The fact he remembers his touch so vividly only reaffirms the fact that he wasn't wasted enough. He was way too sober to be making these mistakes, and yet he knows he'll do it again any way. He's been aware of his affinity for drowning himself in pain and mental insanity as a drug-but he'll still continue. Spending time with Kuroro has made him proficient in the art of dancing around death, after all he's been dancing with the devil all this time.


	2. An Unexpected Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A haphazardly put together of how Kuroro attempts to stick to his plan but fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This high key sucks sadly ;-;

Why exactly did the whole exchange happen? That Kuroro Lucilfer does not know, what he does know is why he accepted it. For sheer curiosity and the depravity of it all. It was amusing to him—his captor, the sealer of his Nen, desired his touch. Kurapika was certainly a beautiful man who, in his opinion, deserved the attention he got from his innate beauty. He who had both the charms of a man and a woman, and that wasn't including his eyes. The chain user definitely caught his attention during his capture, and who was he to deny himself worldly pleasures? Besides, the whole arrangement was laughably in his favor, not only was he able to keep track of the chain user while his troupe members look for a Nen exorcist—he was able to have his fun with him too, and how fun it was—

The complexities of humanities and it's morals go has always interested him. Good and Bad, pick your poison but the human mind will always contradict itself in what it chooses. Sometimes the ones who say they are good are truly the rotten ones, and the one who choose bad have more humanity in them then most. The idiosyncrasy of human kind is quite ironic. Kurapika whose sense of justice runs deep yet manages to agree to things like these is just down right priceless. His corruption would be the most exquisite thing to see first hand, and so he will. He wonders how far will it take before Kurapika's sanity dwindles to the point his humanity completely withers away completely.

They had planned it out, a hotel hidden relatively from the public view with complete anonymity. Both wearing disguises of their own, to which Kuroro notes was a full black ensemble with wig. He definitely looked a lot more like a fully fledged woman. Testing his boundaries, Kuroro wraps his arm around the young man's waist-to which the smaller responded by elbowing him. Still, Kuroro only laughed. Things however, changed the moment they got into their hotel room. In a blink of an eye, the space between them completely vanish-only two bodies fighting for dominance through their lips. No further words were exchanged between them only quick grunts and muffled moans. When clothes were discarded and disguise completely revoked-he came to appraised Kurapika's form. Lithe and delicate yet bearing that lean body, the slight taper in his waist made him want to run his hands through it, and so he did. There was nothing romantic in this, Kuroro thinks, only unadulterated lust.

The moment he finally entered, pleasure invaded his veins-tickling his senses to life. His body was warm and pliant below him, arching beautifully from time to time. Pleasure clouded his senses and without delay he rammed himself into Kurapika's body. His face was pressed firmly into the pillow, muffling the would be screams of both pain and pleasure from reaching Kuroro's ears, and how he longed to hear it's symphony. Perhaps with how heavily pressed he is he can't breathe, but knowing the young man's need to suffer-he probably does not mind. Hell, he probably revels in the pain. Something about the absolute primal carnality in their acts made him so invested. He had his fair share of partners of course but certainly none of them were as memorable as him. Even in his most vulnerable state he manages to look irresistible , a quality Kuroro treasures in anything that exists on earth. Perhaps that was one of the things that made him so possessive of the young man. There was an intense need to mark him, to leave evidences on his skin of his existence. Kuroro heavily left traces of himself upon Kurapika, treating his skin light a canvas- marking it with stunning shades of purples and reds. Red, certainly suited him much better than blue.

Kurapika will never cease to amuse him, that he knows all too well. What exactly was the purpose of their meeting? Couple that with the fact they did it again and again and again until it became something they did at least twice a month if time permits it. This must be his own personal punishment for himself, and it doesn't take a genius to confirm that. The disgust that gleams in the young man's eyes before they fuck clearly isn't directed at him. Oh no, it was clearly for himself. The chain user must be a masochist, Kuroro notes. How crazy must you be to sleep with the murderer who massacred your family? Humans are truly interesting. The mental strain of the whole affair was evident on his face—especially on the times before Kuroro takes off. However one night changed everything, Covered in sweat with the scent of sex—body littered with marks and yet the most eye catching detail of all was the tears that readily ran down in his sleep.

Tired, beaten down, and vulnerable—yet still so enchanting.

but for some reason, Kuroro thought to himself, tears didn't suit him.

Something about those silent tears unsettled something within him, the feeling was unfamiliar to him, it was as though snakes were coiling inside his heart-it must be the boy's chains he concludes. Still, the feeling persisted. The little ritual they do wasn't something they needed to do every time, but he knew Kurapika needed to drown his woes first. Intoxication made him malleable and docile-but also zoned out. Perhaps that was for the better. There was no resistance when he drinks, before he avoided contact until they reached their destination but now he resigned himself to accepting it. His complacency and submissiveness struck a chord within Kuroro, it didn't suit him. The fight in him completely disappears during this time. As he laid with him, a thought crossed his mind.

_I want to see his face._

Without warning, he removed himself and turned Kurapika over. Mouth agape with tears staining his-his scarlet eyes. He felt an odd throb in his heart at the sight, but that too he ignored and reasoned it as his lust. The whole night he stared down as memorized each expression the smaller did. Every gasp, every shiver, every tear he said as he tried to muffle the voice he used to call his name-he remembers them all vividly. That was the first time he decided to stay the night.

He hadn't notice it then, but his touches slowly becoming more gentle. Almost as though he revered Kurapika. The development would have alarmed him, but honestly? He reveled in these new found feelings. They were different, strange—gut wrenching that he feels uneasy at times but—it was nice. The warmth that blossomed in his chest was like hearth. His skin had only known the cold hands of poverty, it wouldn't be a surprise if he craved that warmth, and he did. Kuroro Lucilfer wouldn't be a thief is he didn't wish to covet that warmth for himself —the warmth that stings but comforts him all the same.

The sentiment however was too human—He wouldn't go as far as to say what he experience is 'love'. That was too fanatical—too assuming in a way. Falling in love would make him too human, so if that really were the case then, He'll deny it's existence but keep it close—he has no need for earthy ties of that regard. He would never allow himself to go that far, His heart however, does not share the same sentiment. Sometimes, in the dead of night when passion finally settles and dissipates. The warmth disappears briefly. The boy, Kurapika, would pace around—foot steps both light and heavy with tension. He would wear his shirt, it always hung over him in a way that set a fire in his chest, and make his way to the window or balcony. His sigh was a hymn full of untold worries, heavy under his breath. The phone in his hands always seemed like the root of his concerns. Kuroro knew it was—he had checked the boy's phone once before, just once, to satisfy his curiosity. On it were only notifications of hundreds of messages and phone calls, all belonging to one person named _Leorio._

From the goofy photo of a man smiling exuberantly with tiny glasses displaced on his face—he remembered it to be the driver from when he was captured back then. The messages and calls were all from him, but they were unanswered. Kuroro had thought that perhaps that was it, there was nothing between them—the boy wouldn't even take the time to answer after all, but no. He heard that man's name whispered by those pillow lips into the night like a message in the wind. Different—miles different from how he uttered his own. _Kuroro_ was spoken in his hour filled with unbated lust laced with venomous resentment. _Leorio_ on the other hand was spoken with delicacy, and clear _longing_. 

He often watched as Kurapika stood a feet away from him, clutching the phone like a prayer on one hand and a lighted cigarettes with the other. Watching as his shoulders slacken with heaviness, as the smokes fades into the night sky.

Kuroro Lucilfer had wondered then, what if things were different? What would he be doing now had there been a future where he did successfully eradicate the Kurta clan and Kurapika with it? Surely, things would be as he knows it—how it should be, Him as the elected Leader of his troupe and continuing with their heists. Though, that wasn't the future that seemed the most desirable. No, the future that haunted him the most was the what if—what if he and Kurapika were friends? Certainly they could in that future. The boy, like him, is ultimately an intelligent person. His ability to strategize and adapt—not to mention a very capable fighter. He would definitely make a good spider, but what if they were more?

What if there was a universe—a universe where he had not massacred the Kurta at all? Would he and Kurapika have met then? Most likely not, but if that had been his reality and they still met then perhaps yes they would have been friends. He fantasized a life where they met through their love of books and knowledge, a life where they could have explored the world, a life where they could have been for each other better. Of course Kurapika would be against his and his troupe's ideals but they could compromise.

Still, he's okay with this. As he lay in bed aware of his affect on the boy and what he serves as—his punishment. If he can have him this way, then so be it. He will be there when he finally comes undone underneath his fingertips. As Kurapika falls further into his own spun web—he will be there to reap what the other sowed. Kuroro Lucilfer will be the one to both tear him a part and repair the cracks in his mind. Even in his weakest—darkest moments, Kurapika will always be beautiful. Right? It would be so wonderful—poetically tragic yet so good.

_This, this is the correct solution...isn't? This is, what I want—right?_

In the end, all of this is nothing but a farcical self fulfilling prophecy in the making. In his grief, the boy drowns himself in sorrow. Soaking himself in danger as punishment for himself will kill him one day—and he knows this. The kurta clan the thief had robbed of both their eyes and lives will end not by his hands but by the act of it's last survivor. Ironically, the thief learns of something he wishes to keep but he knows he can't keep it. Try as he might to steal it—He will never fully have him. Together, they will be each other's undoing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if I got my point across but imagine Kuroro going—
> 
> HAHAHA! I'll manipulate him till he breaks! oh no I caught feelings.. let's pretend it don't exist but I know it does so instead If he falls apart—We'll break apart together because that's poetic and I like that ;0


	3. A Regretful Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musings of a love sick fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this if only Kurapika and Leorio had a decent class on communication.

How long has it been since? Since the day he'd last seen Kurapika face to face? A few weeks made sense since he tended to lone wolf his way through life but, 8 months without contact was pushing it. Just what was he thinking? Leorio Paladiknight developed this habit—a habit that consisted of him checking his phone every so often for any messages from a certain blonde. A habit that also had him messaging said blonde to eat and sleep properly, even in the dead of night. So as he checked his phone again, free of notifications, he sighed. Things haven't been the same since Kurapika changed. Sometimes, during his daily walks, he finds his thoughts wandering to him. Was Kurapika eating properly? Sleeping a decent 8 hours of sleep? Was he exploring the world in search of the eyes or was he still hellbent on extirpating the phantom troupe? Perhaps he'll never know at all at this rate. 

An odd sense of loneliness tended to settle in his heart. The walks in the park used to be a relaxing experience but, now as he watches the way the leaves sway and sashay to the ground. Either drifting to the wind or being crushed beneath his heel. He only feels lost. It wasn’t always like this, he didn’t used to be alone. Before he had the company of two exuberant children and a brooding teenager like himself. A duo of Green and white that acted like cats and dogs but were completely inseparable, and Yellow—nay, golden—hair danced along the wind wearing a tranquil expression. It was moments like those that proved to be one of his favorites despite its simplicity. 

So what now? What changed? Gon and Killua were now on their own path. He was on his way to becoming a doctor, a doctor he longed to be while Kurapika—Kurapika he—

  
Kurapika never answered calls anymore, and when he did they were short and concise. Really, he should feel lucky that he even gets a response at this point but, even the call ends up making him feel more miserable. It feels like—sometimes it feels like he’s talking to a stranger. His voice was too stiff—too strained. And on the times he tries to slide in a joke or two, just to see if he could make him laugh better yet smile, it would fall flat or Kurapika would just out right ignore it. He could feel this rift—this wall—start to grow between them and it sickened him. 

It was hard to describe his feelings—but he knew what he did by them. The banter and general noise of the people he comes across becomes white noise in his ears. His footsteps—ring louder than their voices. However, as he continues on his mindlessly journey to his apartment, his thoughts take over the scene. With time continuing to progress as it is, He often finds himself noticing how the world seems lonelier. His eyes latch unto the way the sun’s rays bounce off of glass panes, the sun doesn’t seem as bright as before—comparing to him the sun pales in comparison—Another thing was the fact just crossing by anyone near 5’7 in height, has blonde short hair, or anything resembling him, has his head swivelling to check—only for his hopes to be crushed in an instant. 

  
There were times when he was lucky—lucky to see even a glimpse of him. In the early months, he would sometimes cross paths with Kurapika. Each time he looked worse for wear. There were bags in his eyes—he could tell despite the poorly applied concealer. His normally elegant stance had a slump to it, as though it wasn’t as effortless as before, but a forced one. The paleness of his usually vibrant self was not something he wished to see. Overall, Kurapika looked like a walking corpse of himself. 

The memory of the time he and Kurapika crossed the same street flickered in his mind. Slow and almost weary, Kurapika walked erratically.. The change in his gait grew apparent with each step. As they drew closer, Leorio could feel himself preparing, rehearsing for a simple hello, how are you doing?, but—how does one do that when the person you want to talk to, looks as though they see right through you? As though you don’t exist?

He could feel his heart breaking at the memory—the sight of him slowly breaking down before him, but now even without seeing him he could feel it. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder—he wished that wasn’t the case. Would it be selfish of him to just want the boy next to him? Perhaps—because he knows he would be a wedge between him and the goals he wanted to accomplish. Admitting that brought a sense of shame in him.

  
So as he went home, he took in the scenery. There was nothing differently really, it was the same way he left it—same arrangement, same furnishing— but maybe that was the problem. Nothing about it made it feel like home. Sighing to himself, Leorio sat down on the familiar chair he acquainted himself with after nights of cramming; he felt himself shiver despite the ray of sunlight that warmed his seat. He subtly stared at the shelf containing all his medical books. 

There, on one of the shelf levels, was a picture of them—four smiles somewhat tangled up with each other at York new city, but those very same smiles now gathered dust as they faced cool wood. It's getting hard now, to be reminded of the start of it all, when things were better, when things were great. If today were any other day, perhaps he’d be able to work—to review, to write the notes he needed to re-rewrite—but no. Doing all that now would only be torture when all he could think about was slivery cat eyes and gold silken locks. 

  
Instead he pondered, looking like a love sick fool as his mind dances on the musings of his own wishes. At this point there is no need in lying—he knows what he’s feeling. He knows what he is feeling towards Kurapika. It’s already clear—he isn’t that big of an idiot. People say that admitting how you feel leads you to becoming better at handling them. Still, admitting that verbally to himself is like swallowing a bitter pill—except the pill that’s advertised as medicine is actually poison. Which will only lead to him thinking of only—

  
A notification rings in his phone. Leorio’s eyes widen briefly before he stumbles along with his gangly limbs to reach for his cell only to be faced with the crushing lead-weight of disappointment. They weren’t from him. 

Frustration surges in his body. Without care, Leorio throws his phone away before pacing with thundering footsteps. Why—WHY?? Why is he even doing this to himself? Letting himself worry endlessly about a person that will never do the same. Losing sleep over a person that won’t even care. Losing focus on someone that won’t even think of him. Losing—

He stops, staring at his twitching fingers, before slumping to the ground in defeat with attempts on catching his breath. Try as he might he knows he can’t can’t be angry. Though he knows he has the right to do so, a part of him can’t bring himself to. His anger only brought to light the chasm in his soul who’s shape resembled a very familiar silhouette. There is only one medicine he knows of that can remedy this pain of his and that very person is missing all his calls; all this heart ache because he never expected to fall for someone who is as enigmatically beautiful as he is frustrating. Falling in love for someone is easy. Falling out of it is even harder.

To love someone is something Leorio wants to experience, that feeling is somewhat universal to all but in different contexts. He’s tried to fall out of it—trust that he has. There was a fleeting chance to do so. He had this fellow student who bore gorgeous wavy black locks with matching droopy black eyes. A bit air headed but good intentioned, not to mention an amazing body—the full package really, someone the Leorio of the past would go heaven and hell for. He could have been with her, after all she hinted her interest but—

But that was the old him. Now his world revolves around a petite blond with alert eyes that glow scarlet under intense emotion. Whose smile could render him putty to his knees. Whose very own laughter could send him to a euphoric high. Whose very presence introduced new light to his light. The very person he finds himself envisioning a domestic future with.

Still he sighs, pathetically aware of the impossibility of that future. It was already impossible knowing Kurapika’s mission. He’s too stubborn for his own good, and he loves him for it anyway. So what if it’s been 8 months since he’s last seen him? So what if he’s just realized that he’s been in love with his friend for 8 months? So what if he’s been pining all this time?

Leorio Paladiknight, doctor to be and a fool in love, just wants to see him one more time. If the day comes when Kurapika digs himself his own self fulfilled grave, he might just follow him—because even if it’s unreasonable, completely irrational, being away from him was even more painful. The 836 unread messages and 49 miss calls only serve to cement this pain.

Maybe just maybe, if he believes it with his whole heart, the ache in his soul would wither away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was definitely not sober for this one. Might Orphan this one but you can find me— scratch that I will orphan this one lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'll add Kuroro's or Leorio's perspective. I'm not sure I can write angst effectively anymore.


End file.
